Save Me, I'm Broken
by My.Heart.Is.Diamond.Hard
Summary: A slightly angsty JJ\Reid story about people being there when you need them. Prentiss and Aaron are mentioned, T rating for mentions of self harm, Reid wears 'Juicy' sweatpants, etc  - TQH
1. Two recluses

_**Rating:**** T**_

_**Warnings:**_ Mentions of self harm and bullying

_**Mentions:**_Clark Kent (Smallville)

_**Couple:**_J\Reid

Hello, If you are reading this please review and tell me if I should continue or review and tell me if my writing sucks. The timeline is off in this story so trying to peice together one is not a good idea, basically Spencer is around 16 (and a half?) and JJ is 16. If you think I should mention other members of the team please tell me so, and this is my first Criminal Minds story so tell me if the charecters are off.

_Save Me, I'm Broken - Chapter 1- Two Recluses_

**HER POV:**

I didn't cut for the rush, or adrenalin. No, matter what people tell you about me, absolutely nobody would ever consider me a junky. Although, is suppose that my cutting in a way does relate to Gillian's heroin addiction, too much and your grip on reality dances away, too little and you will be forced to face it. 7 letters, reality, too small for the deaths, misery and destruction it causes, too small to imply the ferocity of the word.

Loneliness, everyone's disease, mine in particular, 10 letters. I like the word, not the pain it causes but the word it's strong and the word drips misery. Now, reality causes many species of pain, loneliness is its second in command. Loneliness can inflict so much pain, it can break people, so far that they can't be put back together, or that there's nobody to put them back together.

Why did Pandora open the box? She was diseased too, just like the defected race of humans occupying the world now. Curiosity, 9 letters, A two faced creature of evil, a double sided coin, a whirr of confusion driven by determination. Yet sometimes that determination, if not driven so recklessly is exactly what saves us in the end.

I watch as the cool metal blade separates my skin, as the blood leaks out a tiny sliver of pain shoots through my arm. I relish the feeling; it makes me feel like someone is there. I really don't know how else to explain it. It makes me feel like I'm different, like I'm not so alone anymore. I watch with glazed eyes as the dark, shining droplets roll from my scarred wrist, they crawl across my pale skin, looking like they were dragging themselves from my body, as repulsed by it as I am. I turned to look in the mirror, my pale skin was unblemished, but the rings under my eyes made them look dead and my pin straight, short hair looked lifeless and boring. I accidentally ate a bag of chips yesterday and my stomach was bloated. I looked horrible, fat, I looked like a shadow, I always faded into the background.

The blood roll from my wrist, the red droplets crawl across my skin like the demons they are, leaving a drying stain behind them, I loved this part. The beads left my wrist and pierced the air before they fell to the tiled white floor. Leaving a small layer of me as a perfectly circular red stain, I shake my arm a bit, to get that frenzied styled pattern that I want. For a second everything stops. Melts away, all the anger, the frustration, the pain, just stops, a soft feeling of numbness settles over me and I sigh, enjoying the moment.

I don't know how long I stand there, just feeling nothing but eventually my thoughts come back and crash like waves against my head, signaling that I have to get back to earth, to reality. This time the sigh is of regret, I should have cut deeper. I bring my wrist to my mouth lightly kissing the serated flesh before kneeling down onto the cool, now spotted, white tile hastily wiping up my blood, setting the blade back into the pocket in my bag I look again in the mirror with distain.

'_Ugly'_

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><p><strong>HIS POV:<strong>

He hung there shivering in the wind, eyes tightly closed in concentration.

'"_Hey" crowed a chipper voice, _

_"My tutoring spaces are only between Wednesday and Friday, if you missed them I'm sorry but I can't make space anywhere else" giggle, _

_"No someone wants to meet you outside" wink, _

_"Excuse me?" confusion, _

_"She is like, exited don't like, make her wait" Gulp, his footsteps on gravel, trailing his hand on the paint, _

_"Well, well if it isn't boy wonder, you made me look bad up there, gotta D on my speech" fear rushing through his veins, stumbling back, twisting his ankle. _

_"And you've ticked off more than a couple people in this school" Sharp pain in his foot, shiver running up his spine. _

_"I-I didn't mean too" frenzied mind, searching for exits. _

_"Well, you did, now you have to learn about the consequences" He knew what was coming, his breathing sped up, giant arms with bulging muscles grabbed his small frame and lifted him up to another pair of rough arms. _

_"Don't you ever show me up again" Thin ropes found their way around his small wrists. He wasn't struggling. _

_"Please don't" A small gasp escaped his mouth as the ropes were pulled tighter. _

_"What was that twit?" He hung he head down in shame as his clothing was taken. _

_"My mum needs me to be there" Pleading, Begging. _

_"Well to bad for your psycho mother, she shouldn't even be allowed in public!" A rush of anger shot through his veins but he knew it was useless to act on it considering the guy was three times his size, he watched as some more people joined the ever growing crowd._

_ – (_**Flashback ends**_)_

He closed his eyes tighter; it wouldn't stop replaying in his mind. He could hear people walking away getting bored with him. His eyes hurt being so tightly shut so long, he was trying to delete the memory from his mind but he could still hear the voices playing. He heard a metallic crash and wearily opened his eyes to see a tall blond teenager setting a ladder by the side of the goal post where he was strung up. He frowned as she started to climb, duffel bag swinging by her side, why did she wait until the crowd disappeared to laugh at him or insult him like the rest of them?

She reached up to tighten the ropes, he was shocked when his right hand fell to his side and she leaned over him to start on his left hand. He really couldn't help getting distracted by her breasts in the process, since they were right in front of his eyes, she stood a bit higher on the ladder and he could swear that she was teasing him on purpose. He was still staring when she stopped for a second, thinking, before wrapping his limp arms around her neck and picking up his feet with one hand. She really was quite strong for such a small person; he watched dazed as the ground came closer and closer, mind whirring was to what it was that she was trying to do.

She descended down the rungs, dropping her duffel bag to the ground. She grasped a brown blanket from her bag and set it on the ground over the wet grass. He felt his body being lowered onto the ground, in sitting position on top of the fuzzy blanket, she reached up and detached his arms from her neck and took another blanket from the bag, wrapping his pale legs in it, seeing how cold he was. She sat cross legged before him, looking at him for a second before pulling a silver canister and two cups out of her seemingly bottomless bag.

"Hot chocolate" she explained pouring it into the cup.

"I'm sorry I waited so long, I'm not good with crowds and I had to get the ladder and blankets" I remained unresponsive and stared at the cup, it seemed foreign.

"I've seen you in class, since you're a grade ahead of me we only have one class together, I thought I was the only one with a brain at this school" she nudged the cup towards him.

"Obviously you proved me wrong….. I skipped three grades… you skipped four was it? Very impressive" she silenced for a moment before awkwardly continuing "What university are you going to?" She looked nervous, twiddling her thumbs and jiggling her leg. I coughed,

"I'm thinking of going into the FBI.. They have a particular unit, the BAU… Be-" I croaked, my voice cracking more than once, she smiled and finished my sentence.

" -havioral Analysis Unit, I was planning on going there too, not as a profiler but as a media adviser, I don't think I would want to be ON the press but this job seems to have a bit of the press combined with an FBI edge, kind of like my ideal job….. Sorry, I'm rambling" She apologized.

"So, what happened to you" she searched, I swallowed, explaining would bring back a lot of newly repressed memories, but there was something about this girl that made me want to tell her everything.

"As you said, I skipped a couple years, and these guys really don't understand the meaning of schizophrenic." I spat in resentment.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you-" she started, worry forming in her eyes, clouding her vision of me, I cut her off, this really wasn't a subject I feel comfortable on but I trusted her.

"No, my-my mother is, and I work hard, those things and the fact that I'm a twig compared to the football players make me the subject for most of the bulling in this school" she reached out and touched my arm, a comforting gesture, and an unfamiliar shock ran though my body, starting at my head and not _quite_ reaching my feet

"I'm sorry, they shouldn't use your mothers illness against you" I'm really glad for the blanket now, this would have been a lot more uncomfortable if I was naked, she smiled in thought,

"Hey, you know what you reminded me of?" she questioned I shift a bit, _wasn't the man supposed to comfort the woman not the other way around?_ A loud voice rung out in my head, _way to go Spencer, you're a sexist now!_, another whispered, _I didn't mean it that way_,_ I just meant it in thought, I wouldn't express it out loud!_, I continued internally arguing with myself as J.J finishes,

"-Clark Kent." I stare at her blankly, her face contorts into disbelief, "You have no idea who Clark Kent is do you?" I shake my head, my mind races though all the names I have heard in the last couple months, no avail, I have never heard of such a name.

"Superman, Clark Kent is his _'secret'_ identity" I stare at her, confused,

"How do_ I_ remind you of a super hero?" I quiz bizarrely, she just smiles her sweet smile and explains;

"There is this one scene, the first episode of the first season when Clark gets tied to a scarecrow post and left there" She stares off behind me, looking at the goalpost, I'm just lost now "Well, you were in the same stance as him, hands tied, head dangling" Total blankness, I have never heard of this show. She stands up, reaching for my hand.

"Do you want to go home now?" She pulls me up, I wrap my hand around hers, not letting go, enjoying the shocks running through my slim body. Suddenly, her sight was pulled downwards and her arm lashes out, her navy blue nails pressed against my narrow hips. Confused, I look down to see that her hand is the only thing keeping the brown blanket in place, a dark blush blossoms on her cheeks. My hand lands gracefully over hers and for a second we just look at each other. I notice a bit of sallowness to her complexion and her hair is exactly pin straight, limp.

Worried that she's sick my eyes trail down to her arms, too thin for a healthy body, finishing at her hand as she extracts it, I see a glace of something. When she turned her hand, a jagged row of white lines, I wonder what I saw; she swallows uncomfortably and points to her car at the edge of the field. She packs up her stuff in silence, pulling out a pair of sweatpants for me to put on, I frown as I see the bright pink _'JUICY'_ logo on the back but pull them on anyway.

She throws the bag in the back of her tank sized _'Ford Flex'_ and climbs in the front, I follow her in and stare at the houses passing by, murmuring instructions as we drive through the streets. I didn't mean to seem rude, but my mind was whirring, trying to shift together the pieces of what I saw on her wrist. She pulls up into the driveway and looks at me, I give up, my mind rationally explaining that it was probably just dust.

"I'll see you around." She states, although I can hear a bit of a question mark at the end, I just smile, nodding to her as I step out. She gives me one last smile before it flat lines in concentration as she tries to guide the giant car out of the miniature driveway. I watch as the car drives away, the door creaks alerting me to the presence of my mother. She stands, looking ashen in the doorway, I give a tiny smile and walk up the decrepit steps, taking her hand to guide her back inside, and she looks at me in alarm,

"What are you doing?" She yells, eyes fluttering in distress. My smile fades as I try to remind her who I am,

"It just Spencer mum, Just your son" I reassure her but she still looks at me in panic,

"No, you're not! My son is seven, you liar!" She accuses me. I can feel the neighbors stares piecing my back and I take her inside she suddenly goes blank, letting go of my hand, her limp arm sags by her side, she starts wanders back to her room with light footing as if not to wake someone, I can hear her whisper a soft "Goodnight Spencer" to my door as she walks by.

I can feel the searing tears prodding at my eyes as I walk into my cracker box room, dropping to the floor, knees spread and head bowed as I cry. My own mother didn't notice that it was 2:00 in the morning and I was wearing girl's sweatpants. The only thought that rests another army tears threatening to overflow is the memory of the soft smile and reassuring eyes that belong to a certain blond teenager. I flop onto the bed curling into fetal position, the sweet smile glowing in I mind, knowing what I would dream about tonight.

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><p>Spelling errors? Gramatical errors? Character errors?<p>

Please review!

-TQH


	2. Yet

**Hey All! I just wanted to let you know I am going to be a monster and ask for 2 more reviews before I update! Please, they make my week! Even if its just a :( or a :) I am content!**

**- You might ask why I am doing this the answer is: I'm shallow. I have an english paper that needs to be written and in order for this story to establish dominance I have to get 2 reviews. I know, I am a greedy monster! Anyway, you didn't click to listen to me, so start reading, if you haven't already... **

_**PROTECTED- **__**CHAPTER 2**_

_**HER POV- **_

I sigh outwardly; my thoughts were jumbled again even though I slashed my wrist only a couple minutes ago, he has a dizzying effect on me. It's been less than 12 hours since I saw him and I'm starting to feel alone again. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel so silent, so unimportant, and so solitary. Somehow he has that effect on me, and I already miss it, that feeling of fulfillment. I felt like smiling around him, something I haven't felt like doing for so long time.

It's a new feeling, this warmth, this bliss, I haven't felt that in a while. Its been a while since the last time I felt so attached. It's a dangerous thing, attachment, everything leaves, nothing stay's the same. When you become attached you refuse to give it up, until you realize that it _wants_ to go, it wants to leave you, alone. You let it go eventually, but it leaves a burning hole inside yourself, the edges rough, you can feel it every day after that, until the ice covers the hole. Frosting over feeling, freezing love; none comes out, none comes in. The rays of sunshine start to melt the carefully frozen ice, but if I get to close I know that they will reopen past wounds.

The classroom reeked of the sweaty gym lockers that have been at the school since the early 80's. Since it was right beside the gym it was to be expected, but the putrid smell still shocked my system. I walked into the muggy class room forty-five minutes before class, my blood staining the sleeve of my shirt. I have never once been late, accounted to the fact that I go straight to the next class at lunch and rec and gets to school an hour early. I always was a good girl; I wore my skirt an inch and a half above my knee, my socks rolled all the way up, my hair in a ponytail and my school work was exemplary. I never cheat or steal, I am planning on getting into Trinity in Ireland.

I hated myself for so long, some people lash out or do drugs to escape but I could never do that. That would ruin my chances of getting into Trinity. So I lashed out against me, in my own private way, I have seen other people** try** the things I **do**, they get saved, I don't. Other people notice the change, nobody noticed mine, nobody noticed the way I shriveled in around myself, like a rose in winter. My winter never ends, I am always dead, always worthless as other blossoms are taken away in their beauty, I am left, abandoned.

"Geek" a mutter echoed in from outside the door, I was not shocked at the comment, more surprised that someone even looked in the doors to the class room; they were practically invisible for all of the students until two minutes before class. Bored, I pull all the books out of my bag and arrange them on my desk, taking special care with my old, tethered, history book; what we had done in the past is frightening, using First Nations peoples as pawns in our game to win land is unforgivable. Yet, here we are and there they are. I was right in the midst of reading about the Wendat when I look up for a fragment of a second to check the clock and saw a boy sitting next to me.

How on earth did he sit there without me noticing it? I frowned at how little I knew about my surroundings, but it is quickly replaced with a smile as I feel the rays of happiness radiating off him, it felt like a layer of ice was slowly being melted off as the sunshine was finally near. Since he seemed unaware of my presence too, I took advantage of the moment to look at the prodigy boy.

He has all his things precisely arranged on his desk with a clean looking brown leather book bag at his feet. He wore fitted dark wash jeans and brown sweater vest that made him seem much older than I knew he was. The deep rings under his eyes and the pale shade of his skin exhibited the fact that he hadn't slept well in days, yet they looked shallower than yesterday. His long legs were crossed but angled as if he didn't _quite_ know what to do with him. He was a shining example of what my Daddy would call a _'Feminine man'_. He had a pair of heavy turtle shell glasses perched on his nose and short chocolate shaded hair, naturally a little spikey at the top.

He really wouldn't be anything special except for the fact that when I looked at him I couldn't stop the blush from creeping up her face. There was something about him, something about the way his cute little smile was tugging at his lips as he read, the way his eyes glazed over as he buried himself in the problems of the characters, if only to ignore his own.

I stood up only because I had to introduce myself, which was polite, **not** because I wanted to get a date. Date, 4 awkward letters, a bumbling, fumbling idiot of a brute; What ever made such a stubborn, difficult, sloppy bully, I'm not sure, but I wouldn't mind going a round or two with them. I shook my head a bit, so many idiotic thoughts bouncing around in there, I really must learn the name of that boy next to me who managed to make my carefully filtered thoughts and feelings into that of a boy crazy, brainless, airhead teenager. The boy's head lifted up, he had an expression of shock painted on his face as he blinked a couple times, I would guess to acknowledge I was really in the room.

For a second we just stare at each other, before he faltered "I d-didn't exactly get a c-chance to introduce myself yesterday" he blushed and rubbed the back of his neck in a way that screamed uncomfortable "I-I'm Spencer Reid" he finished.

"Hello Spence-" I began in a cautious tone, before a loud bang drew our attention. The classroom door had been pushed open with so much force that the wall was now dented.

The teacher barged in, gleaming, bald head reddened and throbbing with pulsing veins. He currently wore a pair of slightly crooked navy glasses hanging off his beaklike nose; he also wore a dark green turtle vest that didn't do anything to cover his pot belly and a pair of brown slacks. The sweat stains under his arms were steadily growing by each passing second, to anyone who wasn't as persistent as I was it would look as if he just jogged from his house, but this was me and I knew that Mr. Renglishe was a severe alcoholic. He most likely jogged here from the staff room after taking a shot of whiskey.

I could tell since the beginning of the year, the way the rings under his eyes grew deeper every passing day, the way he stumbled when he walked and every third sentence was slurred, he was outright depressed. When I asked him about it he slightly broke down, his justification was his wife left him and he felt as alone as I did. My mother's a doctor so he was prescribed some anti-depressants and he has been getting better, slowly, but he still takes that shot of whiskey.

Anybody who put a simple effort in to notice would realize the slight stumble in his step, of the white-knuckled grip he kept on the desk, like he thought the world was spinning. Of course nobody notices, they never do, they never will. People are selfish beings and will _always_ put themselves before you, the sooner you come to that conclusion the easier it will be to deal with the constant disappointment.

You might ask why I got myself involved in all this, and my answer is simple: Extra-credit and a glowing letter of recommendation. A year ago I asked him if he was depressed and my grades in his class shot from low B's and C's to all A's. It might sound like I was cheating but I really wasn't, I always worked hard in this class and as selfish as it might sound I know I deserved those A's. Since he was depressed he just threw everything around, a B for you an F for you! He is finally paying attention, and that's why I got those A's not because I was there when he broke.

The student's surged in, the jocks throwing last passes with the football and some girls were staring at their phones while others were taking peeks at their laptops. This was a usual day for me, until another girl walked in, black hair gleaming in the florescent lights. Her face was a mask of serious, she sauntered to the seat next to me and crossed her long legs, her Doc's clunking against the tiled floor. She pulled a notepad and a black pen out and pulled her desk a couple inches away from me. I would be offended, under the impression that she didn't want to sit with me. Until I took a closer look, she was in the corner, and she pulled her desk away from mine, so that it was completely isolated. She seemed to _want _to be alone, I wonder why anyone would wish for the pain it brings. I turned away from her, swearing that I would leave her alone in my mind, if that's what she wants I won't step in the way.

Mr. Renglishe grunted in greeting to me while his plump fingers grasped the chalk intended to wright words on the board today, starting his lesson with a bored drawl laced with a couple slurs. Just for a second I tuned out to take a quick look at Spencer. He was deep in thought; his hazel eye's crowded with thoughts. For a second I can almost see them, wondering if I saw his mother, worrying about Mr. Renglishe and me, I am curious as to what he thinks about me.

Does he see how much pain I am in? Or have years of practice made sure that nobody sees. Does he see that I am tired I am how I need help? Or does he see a intrapersonal, good girl who isn't worthy of his attention let alone his help? I put so many layers on every day; I wonder which one he sees. I wonder if he puts on layers, he looks like someone in need of help, someone broken, but not even in the same realm of pain as me, for I am buried so deep in the pain I fear I will be lost forever in a matter of time. Is he more shattered than he seems? I guess you can only see through so many layers, th ey have to trust you to take all of them off.

When I was little I waited for someone to save me, I waited for a knight in shining armor to break through the ice building up around my heart. Until I was ten, when I broke through the fantasy and realized that in real life the dragons always win, there are so few knights out there, I would never catch a glimpse of one. The shining, silver sword of honor the knight carries always melts at the fury in the fire of the dragon. Every human is a dragon, there knights have lost, have given up. I had at a very young age let my dragon win, I didn't fight.

Nobody came to save me, never. Unaided, I was in the dominion of fury and depression, I fell casualty to my emotions, letting the numbness and soft ache warp my vision, and my ferocity ravage my judgment, I fell down in a bloody battle and never got up. So many years on the ground, too many years on the ground, I was descending in, I was disappearing, and nobody noticed. The dirt clawing at my pale, scarred, skin, pulling me in more every day. I would be underground soon, and I would be nothing but a distant memory to everyone on earth. Not a single person would weep, not a single person would care even dead I would be alone, more so than living, I'm not sure.

'_Yet'_


	3. Two tears, of blood and salt

**Thank you for the THREE reviews! **

**I wrote this soo fast when I saw how many reviews I got! **

**The story of the moving droplet of blood is at the bottom!**

**READ AWAY, (and don't forget to review!) **

**:**

**Two tears, of blood and salt**

**Emily's POV**

I stride in the room, letting my Doc Martins cluck against the tiled floor, enjoying the noise. My black bag sways at my side, over flowing with pages and school supplies. I knew that I didn't fit into other people's lives, I wasn't a fucking idiot, I was a nerd who wears Doc's permanently glued to her feet. You don't get to know many of those, of more of you don't want to.

Settling down in my seat I focus on the stumbling teacher, gripping the desk and slurring every couple of words. I usually pay attention in class, but there are exceptions, I pull out my note book and start documenting the class, as I do when I get bored.

"**22 students**

**Jocks throwing paper air planes in the back, ****Axel- Brent-Brody-Colton-Drake-Ryker and Savion**

**Preppy boys in the middle row, gossiping no doubt, Silas and Chase **

**Airheaded cheerleaders, Faika, Bab's, Fabi and Abebe twin to Abebi**

**Goths in the back, in all black and showing new tattoos of piercings to one another, Amanita, Atropine and Hemlock **

**Twins at the back, in seats next to each other texting, Tristesse and Trinka **

**A nerdy looking boy who seems transfixed by the girl sitting next to him**

**Girl sitting next to him, scribbling furiously at her note pad, seemingly oblivious to the boy" **

Oh wonderful, a high school romance, how useless are those? You say together for 2 years max, then you leave for collage, anyone with a brain would break up, then again it doesn't look like there is much brain in this school. I lean back in my chair, getting comfortable before continuing with my writing.

**JJ's POV**

I noticed one peculiar thing about this particular girl, she dressed like a Goth; with long, over the knee, black, leather boots with black, red or dark purple short skirts and dark colored shirts with a black, well-worn leather jacket. But she never acted like one.

She would always sit in the front corner, isolated, her attention fully on the teacher, of course a couple times some of the football jocks would come onto her, her legs were remarkably long, with the leather boots and the short skirts, it certainly did look like something out of a _'Playboy'_ magazine, but she would look shocked for a second than politely excuse herself, moving on to the next class. It was surprisingly fun watching them stare after her, but I don't get why she would turn all of them down.

Eventually the jocks gave up and she made no move to contact the other three Goths who seemed to be waiting for her, she seemed content just being alone. After the last class of the day she would stay in the room, all the other teens rushed out but she sat silently in her seat and let them turn the lights out on her. I wasn't a curious person, but she didn't make sense to me, and I _hate _things that don't make sense.

The final bell rung and she turned around to the desktop computer and turned it on, I walked out with the rest of them but when the cheerleaders, chewing gum, equipped with their cells, linked arms around the hulking jocks I slowly slid down the wall beside the classroom, unnoticed. Pulling my laptop out I started to write, what I usually did in my leisure time.

It was about half an hour before the first incident happened, I looked through the tiny window on the door, and there she was, Emily-I had learned, was _smiling. _Two weeks at this school and I had never heard a laugh or a giggle, and certainly never seen a smile. She had red _'Skull Candy'_ headphones on and was typing furiously at the keyboard. Frowning I turned back to my computer, I knew I wasn't the poster child for normal but everything seemed warped. Just when you think that you have seen all the angles….

A couple minutes later was when I heard the first notes, one of my favorite songs, _'Bad by James Marster's'_ was slithering out the door, notes dancing in the air. Around the second verse a female voice joined the song, confused I looked through the window again, I could swear that I had drifted off in front of my laptop because still in the leather boots she was twirling around the room, singing along with the song lightly. Her smile shone bright in the room, her swaying complemented with a couple dirty dancing moves was highly enchanting.

I turned away, I always figured that she worked or smoked, smiling and singing didn't even drip across my plain of thoughts. I guess even the lonely need outlets, I have my personal punishment, and she dances.

I do wonder what Spencer's outlet is.

I turn away from the door, realizing that I hadn't cut this morning, and the urge was getting strong with all the stress over flowing outwards. Leaving my bag, I grip the blade, just before I reach the washroom I see Spencer. Alarmed I look back in the direction I saw him, just a row of lockers, I sigh, this must be _really _overdue.

Not bothering to step into one of the stalls, I lash out the blade, taking a moment to appreciate the slivers of light reflecting off of the cool silver. I grip it tighter and press it against my scarred wrist, gasping in relief I watch the liquid stress roll off my body, savoring the feeling of release. I wipe off a droplet going in the wrong direction and prepare to sense the high. Just before I get to the lost place I arrive at when I cut too deep when loud door slam jars me out of the clouds.

"What the hell were you doing?" one flaming Emily Prentiss stands before me, her anger rolling off her body in waves, I can feel the flames licking at my feet and clasp my dripping wrists behind me. I don't know why I do, most people would shrug and carry on with their lives, but I feel the strong need to hide my wrists from her.

"Don't you think that sometimes I take a look out the door? Imagine my surprise when mid twist I see you turning away! This is personal, why would you invade my privacy like that?" Emily barked crossly, I slightly recoil and bring my non bleeding arm up to put a stray hair back in place trying to think of something not completely senseless to say. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she takes a step towards me.

"You are bleeding." She states, bobbing her head to get a better look before giving up and turning my head for me; using her thumb to wipe away the half of the growing red streak*, similar to a mom wiping off a kid's face after eating. Her eyebrows furrow again escorted with a frown. For a second she just stares before she purses her lips and her eyes are loud as they flash, connecting the dots. Letting me know the game was up. I sag as her arm trails along mine, bringing it forward, my serrated skin still heavily leaking blood.

Her face once again contorts as she looks back at me, the disappointment showing in her eyes, I feel like the kid again. I don't want her to be disappointed in me, I want her to be proud of me, but I am me; I don't make anyone proud, I don't have anyone to make proud. Her eyes flicker between my suddenly heavy eyelids to my bleeding wrist.

"You cut too deep" she accused, meeting my blurring eyes again. My shoulders slump as gravity starts dragging me down, my feet slip on the tiled floor and I fall. Cracking my head on the hard, cold bathroom tile, my hazy vision makes out an Emily Prentiss pinching the bridge of her nose, her shoes clicking across the tile as she walks towards my slumped body. The clicking ringing through my mind, growing softer as I drift further into the numbness, wishing I could stay here.

**Emily's POV**

Wonderful, I watch as the blood loss gets to her and she drops to the tiled bathroom floor. _'There goes my evening' _I don't know how long I stand there, contemplating leaving her there; after all she did invade my privacy. I would usually leave people to figure life out for themselves, work through the pain. I take a second look at her wrist and see the layering of new and faded scars, years of scars. She has gone through the pain a lot longer than any normal person, then again, anyone I associate with has to be far from normal.

I'm just a bit taller than her and a hell of a lot stronger so I wrap her arms around my neck and pick up the backs of her knees. I throw my body up, expecting a stagger or the pull of a 120+ pounds in my arms, but walk out of the bathroom with only a slight stumble. Frowning I pull up her shirt a bit, her ribs clearly visible, glancing at her arms, as thin as sticks then opening her mouth to confirm, there is a slight visible decay in her teeth.

From experience I know that this body weight is not healthy, the slightly rotted teeth indicate that she was bulimic for a month or two and the thin arms and visible ribs point towards anorexia; I would guess as long as she has cut herself, a couple of years. I know that she needs help, not from me, I am merely a stopover, from who, I'm not sure, but not me, never me.

I'm so out of it, that I don't notice the tuft of brown hair bobbing along behind me until a long fingered hand clasps my shoulder.

"What the fuck?" my loud swearing accompanied by the sound of the girl's body slapping the floor echoes through the hallways. The adrenalin rushing through my veins stops flowing considerably when I see the boy cowering in front of me.

"Whoa, I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you" the words flow out of my devil colored lips before I can stop them, why am I the one apologizing?

"Who are you?" I say, not quite rudely but it's not a soft tone either. He looks up, the shame flooding his face. I know who this is, the boy who has an eidetic memory, a Spencer Reid, interesting. As my thoughts race through my mind I smile outwardly, content that I know him.

"I didn't mean to startle you" he stands in a crumpled form, is everyone in this school broken? He walks past me, kneeling beside the girl's splayed form. Her straight blond hair sporadically spread around her pale face, she just lies there her legs and arms tangled in her clothes, as if they were trying to hold her back. She looks like a painting, her body paper thin, her white skin marred with a small trail of dark red, her body only inches above the floor, crumpled in form. I'm not a protective person, I have trust issues and people never look to me for help but she looks so tiny, so pale and utterly helpless. Slivers of a little girl that you can't but want to put back together, I frown at my maternal instinct rising out of my body, softly cursing I kneel down beside him.

"What happened?" he choked, my questioning eyes wandered to his form, holding her limp, ghostly hand. Her body looked like a solid mist, blue veins showing through like ripples in her liquid body. I suddenly realize that I was asked a question, to tell or not to tell, maybe he will help her, I look down at the stray red droplet running down her cheek, imitating a tear. She isn't ready to be helped; I know that, I wasn't. Thankfully her wrist was face down in the shallows of her grey skirt, hopefully he won't notice the small ring of blood shadowing her wrist.

"Just collapsed, I'm going to take her home to get checked out" I never was a good liar, but the way her pure white complexion purifies even more with each passing moment the only subject on my mind was getting to a place I could stop the bleeding. He frowned, looking at me for a second with just a hint of suspiciousness.

"We should get going now, thanks for stopping by!" I could hear the frantic panic rising in my voice. Picking her up softly I nodded to the still kneeling boy, I almost felt bad for him, and anyone could see the confusion laid across his face, the threads of worry deeply sown.

Again shocked at how light she was, I pulled her closer, _'Fuck you maternal instinct!'_, I look down at my scarred stomach, wondering once again if I made the right decision.

A tear slithers down my soft cheek, much alike the blood imposter that slid down the girls face only moments ago.

_Anyone who didn't get how the blood got there, here is your explanation:_

wiped off a stray droplet on her wrist

she took that hand to her forehead to push a hair back the blood droplet transferred to her forehead

only wiped away half, half was still trailing down her face

**I would have updated earlier but the ENTIRE day my laptop has been on strike, not letting me login, finally I hit a switch somewhere on the side and it let me login, I have absolutly no idea what happened. **

**Reviews make me write faster!**


	4. An Outsider

**1 REVIEW?**

**I was so depressed I couldn't write! **

**None of you could spend a spare second to make my life better?**

**I can't stay angry for long so I posted this chapter... but when I am depressed I can't write. **

**Just a reminder...**

Spencer still doesn't know JJ's name so her refers to her as _'her' _or 'the blond' and Emily as 'The brunette' if there is any confusion between who he is referring to read and review!

Also, the song really doesn't mean anything to JJ its just the only thing that distracts herself from her life, so singing or music is meaningful to her but the lyrics are not important.

_**Spencer's POV**_

I knew I shouldn't have, followed _her_ I mean. I was just making sure she was safe; I would walk _her_ home every day. Just a few steps behind her, she would never turn around, the entire walk to her home, she would face only forwards.

I observed the new student, who wouldn't; she was different, inaccessible, secluded. The brunette would go out of her way to be separated. She would stay behind; I never gave a spare thought to it, only focusing on _her_. It was Friday when she stayed, when they both remained, I walked calmly out of the classroom waiting for her to exit, as she did every day. The brunette stayed behind in the classroom and the blond slid down the wall next to it, reaching for her bag. A vibration ran through my body as it did the first time we met, I try not to imagine other situations she could move like that in.

Time passed, I began to wonder exactly what was going on it was like a game, when _she _turned to look in the window, I would turn to look at her. A couple minutes later I heard her singing, the brunette. The soft notes only barely reached my straining ears, the notes twisting and boding with the otherwise delicately silent air.

Unknown to herself, the blond started softly singing along, her soft coral shaded lips mimicking the words. My racing mind rumbled to a stop when I heard the full notes, the brunette was a decent singer but the delicately sung notes coming from _her_ were sung with such expression, the song lyrics taking on a new meaning to her, twisting in the air around her light lips.

She looked in the window once more and her face contorted, her expression detailing a resilient need for something. She frantically dug through her bag for that something, I desperately pleaded to myself that she would not pull out a needle. I wouldn't want the shattered, softly lit girl to be as lost as me. I let out a small sigh when she pulled out a piece of reflecting metal, flickering in the shards of harsh light.

Preoccupied with watching her I do not wonder what it is. She scurries to her feet, faltering slightly and turns the corner. Confused, I follow after her, ignoring the brunettes rage ignited face opening the classroom door. I could have sworn that she saw me but she didn't call after me as I trail the blond, so I continue. _She_ turns around and I duck back behind the corner, slipping on the stained, well -worn tile and landing with a nauseating thud. The words and memories usually flashing through my busy mind halt to a stop, letting the pain take control.

As the pain wracks my body all I want if for her to double back and help me, I want her to take care of the pain roving through my veins. Still slumped on the floor I wonder if she heard me, peeking around the corner I see her slipping through the bathroom doors, I let my head fall onto the dirty tile. Realizing that nobody was going to help me I try to stand. Even crouching, my left side cries, riddled with newly forming bruises.

I bite my tongue; drawing blood as my shaking hand grapples for the half-filled needle I know is in my pocket. Slipping it out of my dark denim jeans I bite off the cap before I stick it into my arm. I can sense the cold drug as it travels throughout my whole body, ripping the pain apart. I'm still traveling my high, the brunette strides past me, her heels clicking on the tile. She doesn't stop, doesn't even acknowledge that I am splayed on the floor with the needle beside me that I only used moments before.

With my fogging vision I can barely make out the high heeled figure as she strides into the bathroom. I let the tide of mind numbing darkness take me away and I pass out, high, on the floor of the school.

Roused by the bathroom door creaking open, I open my drug hazed eyes to see the brunette holding _her_, more like dragging _her_ out of the washroom. Trying to claw past the drugs dizzy fog I stand up shakily, watching the brunette carry _her _with ease.

My body finally realizing the current situation the alarm bells start clanging and I struggle to stand up, my feet are still numb. I stumble slightly as pins and needles run through my wrecked body. I grip onto the wall, waiting until she passes the corridor I am currently standing in. I wait in anticipation until she passes me, willing my feet to not betray me I stagger after her.

She is so focused on her task she doesn't see me as I walk behind her, trying to recover from the powerful drugs. Worried that I would get weighed down by the still rampaging drugs I clasp onto her leather covered shoulder. She nearly jumps a foot into the air, the blond body rolling out of her adrenaline jerked arms. Her cropped shirt moves and for a second I can see her midsection, not as unblemished as I once thought, large jagged scars run throughout her stomach.

Being the eidetic and being left at the library so many times when I was smaller because my parents needed to _'work things out'_. I worked my way through the library steadily and eventually got to the maternal section for women. I knew that I would never need the knowledge but I had time, thanks to reading over fifty books on mother-hood I know only one place where she could have got scars exactly like those.

I wonder if she misses the baby.

Her loud swearing echo's throughout the empty school hallways. We stare at each other, neither of us realizing that she dropped the blond girl on the floor. Her face contorts, changing from anger to a somewhat empathetic look.

"Whoa, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" she apologized, I looked up from the floor but her face didn't describe regret; A mixture of anger from apologizing to me and worry for the blond girl masked her face.

"Who are you?" the brunette questions, only her original fury remaining on her face, forgetting about the crumpled girl at her feet. I don't, I kneel down to the blond form, my racing mind trying to place the symptoms into a diagnosis.

She lies on the floor, twisted and mangled in a manner from being dropped. Her pale white skin seems close to transparent; an eerie glow smears the air around her. One of her hands is stretched out, fingers spread, almost like she was reaching to something, something away from me. It was the other that enticed my attention, folded under the waves of her skirt I couldn't catch sight of her fingers but I could swear that there was a ring of red around her enclosed hand.

It hurts. Surprisingly it hurts, she is the one who is so obviously aching but I could feel the sting, the pain course through my body. Latching onto my blood flow and traveling to each corner of my body before exploding like electric shocks. The butterfly's in my stomach that I could feel awaken every time I caught a glimpse of her evolved into a warzone, cannons shooting, waves crashing and guns cocked and ready.

Every second I lingered on her battered form the guns blew holes in my body and the electric shocks and cannons shook my insides, I wondered if it was visible from the outside. Managing to break my attention from her, I turn to the brunette, looking to her for an explanation as to what happened to_ her_.

"What happened?" I knew I sounded weak, my voice broke and cracked. I knew that for this reaction usually people would have to be friends or family but I trusted her, the only other person in the world I trusted was my own mother. Trust, the word implied so much, mutual trust is the definition of friendship, of course I wanted more than friendship but there was time. It dawned on me that there might not be, the thought shook me even more than the cannons or shocks.

The carefully planned steps and daydreams were not going to happen. The game had just moved forward ten steps without any warning. All the time was running out, I couldn't move. I found that out now. The drugs in my system accompanied with the adrenaline and strong emotional response caused my body to overreact.

I loved it when I drifted into unconsciousness now, instead of dreaming of past instances that I regret every time I fall under the waves of the drugs I dream about _her._ Not anything demeaning, but just holding her, smelling her hair, witnessing another smile that could stop a train.

In the land of dreams everything is showered in gold, every scene is pure and light….. but just coming out of one of the hallucinations this reality is harsh. The florescent lights are unforgiving, the tiles are cold, the hallways are severe and the girl who is gold has melted into a painting. Fading, her skin is blue it's so overcome with her rippling veins, her limp golden hair is spread around her faded face.

"Just collapsed, I'm going to take her home to get her checked out" I can feel the corners of my mouth pulling down, suspicion arising out of the pits of mistrust I have embedded. Why would she care? Her strict behavior would imply that she would want people to fix themselves, why would she try to care for the drifting angel?

Angel, the word is fitting for _her_, I never really believed in a god but somehow this girl, looking so helpless and small on the taciturn tile seemed to fit my minds classification of an angel. So superior to all they walk with, yet to kind to ever think that they were above us. Her angelic purity trickles out every second she is thrown in with the brutes and stereotypic teenagers.

The originality and dreams falling out like feathers from her white wings. Nobody ever caring enough to see beyond the human shadow to the snowy angel beneath; I wonder how nobody could ever see the wings attached to the girl, so ready to take her so far, only to wither from disuse.

"We should get going now, thanks for stopping by!" The brunette pants frantically, reaching for the angel, her tan arms contrasting brightly to the opaque silhouette. I watch in wonder as her blond hair lifts up from the tile, following its body off the demanding tile to the warm arms of the brunette.

Only I can see the wings, crumpled and poisoned gray, crackling in the arms of the brunette. Horror rocks through my body because my mind created the illusion that they are going to fall off, leaving the angel stranded on earth, I watch in in wonder as the frail, thin, grey wings cling onto the angel. As if waiting for the moment they would be used.

The brunette turns, my drugged mind is confused by the movement of the two bodies as they turn away from me. The brunette struts towards the exit, never looking back, just like the angel in her arms. In the back of my mid I can hear the click of her shoes accompanied with her soft sobbing that taints the air around them. I am not interested in the sounds of people walking away, as they have so many times before, but the scene plays in slow motion as something drops from _her_ withered face.

In curiosity I walk the same steps as the brunette did, before stopping and buckling in horror as I witness the round red drop of blood that had fallen off of_ her _face. I don't know how long I would have crouched there, but my attention once again directed itself to the new change in the scenery. I turn to the hallway doors, to my surprise a man stands there, leaning against the doorframe.

I take a second to just look at the new character, his soft, worn leather boots make his steps ghostlike, on purpose or just a bonus, I'm not quite sure. His jeans were similar to mine, a little tight, but not man slut tight, mine were a calming blue. His were a serious black; accompanied with a navy blue shirt it was stunning how out of place he looked in the polluted, scruffy hallways of a high school.

Eventually though I saw his face, he couldn't have been older than me. Around sixteen or seventeen; confused at the severely overly dressed outfit I search his shadowy eyes for reason. Finding none, I stand up straight as he steps towards me. Letting a smirk that looks slightly vicious take over his features, he holds out his hand in a curt, gentlemanly manor, obviously for shaking. Still cautious I peer at the hand before clasping it, shaking it twice before waiting for the reason that I couldn't find in his eyes some spilling out of his lips.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner, I'm looking for Emily"


	5. Memories from pain

**Emily's POV **

'Whoosh', her limp body flew over my bed, landing with a thump on the end. I walked calmly towards the bathroom, glad that nobody was home for once. The silver handle of the drawer was calming as I opened it to the familiar sight of pills and bandages. Running the pads of my fingers softly over the photo I keep in there to remind me never to do what I had done in the past, my face crumples in remembrance. Jarred out of the photo by the sound my cell I gripped the bandages and alcohol.

I set down the stuff beside her, rummaging through my black leather purse, jingling the silver chins around it. Finally wrapping my fingers around my cell I pull it out of the piles of junk, shoving papers and packs of mint gum aside. Flipping open the screen my eyes wander to caller ID, _'unknown'_ flickers across the screen, I flip the screen back, it's just a wrong number. My mind roams back to the possibility that it isn't and I try to calm myself, it isn't possible, he couldn't find me here.

As I can feel myself trying to crumple from the inside out my hand wanders backwards, looking for support. Suddenly, I grip something cold; I turn my head and see my sheets covered with growing pools of blood. Swallowing harshly at the sight I turn my body gripping her hand. Trying not to retract my heated hand from hers that was similar to a block of Ice, I pour the alcohol on her hand, cleaning the wound.

Wrapping the gauze around her hand I pull her onto my lap. I'm not sure why I do; it's the first time I've touched a human in months. I keep my distance from my classmates and my parents… loving as they are, keep their distance from me. Looking down at the crumpled girl I wonder what it would have been like to hold another human being, smaller, one who would love me unconditionally. My face is as stony as my heart but I can't help the tear that rolls down my cheek.

I stay in that position for hours, running every single moment of _before_ through my mind. Looking for an out, something I could have done differently, but there was nothing. I wasn't going to stay there; nothing at all could keep me anywhere where he could be. I wouldn't bring another human being into this world when it wasn't safe. No one deserves to go through the pain I have processed, I wouldn't make a child go through it with me.

But, I can't help but wonder, what would have happened if I hadn't chose the path that I had chosen. Most likely I would end up dropping out of high school to become a single mother who works at the gas station to try to pay the piling bills. But, maybe, just maybe… I would be happy. But there would always be the risk of _him_ stepping in on the picture, bringing all the nightmares back to my dreams, I couldn't let him do that, even if it made me happy for a year or two, after that, when he found us, unspeakable things would happen. He would smile as he hurt my child, knowing this I don't regret my decision but I wonder what it would be like if the father wasn't a sadistic bastard.

'**RING'** I dropped everything I was holding, the liquid sloshed against my boots. My body moves, shifting the light body off of my own. My Doc's softly tread towards the door and my eyes compress into slits as the body's shape runs through my brain. The tall figure punches the doorbell again, I shuffle back taking a few seconds to calm my nerves, it couldn't be him, it must be an illusion, a shadow of a workman walking by, or a telephone man who's got the wrong address. My mind runs through all through all of the possibilities before he presses hid face against the foggy glass, even though it's just an outline my heart rips in two. That could be no one else, that was him, that was his slightly crooked nose that I had playfully made fun of so many times, that was his sharp cheeks pressed against the class and those were his arms, clutching the door handle the hand that had hit me mercilessly so many times.

Without really knowing it I'm inching towards the small table beside the door.

Pulling open the dark oak drawer, my eyes still on the fidgeting silhouette I shift the junk out of the way and grip my prize. Clasping the cool metal I tuck it in between my jeans and my shirt, feeling safer I close the drawer and keeping one hand behind my back, close to the intricate metal I open the door. His shrewd, frowning, wolfish face looks back at me. Even as tall as I am I feel like a little girl as he stoops over me, even with the weapon behind my back I feel as helpless as I do the first time he hit me.

I meet his eyes and immediately regret it; two cold, crazed dark orbs stared back. It was almost as if they were feeding on my painful look, drawing power from my shriveled stance. When I first met him I wondered why such an angel would be stranded on earth, when he first hit me I wondered if he had flaws, if he was just human like the rest of us, when he smashed his beer bottle against my unprotected body and refused to let me go to the hospital I wondered if he had sold his soul to the devil, but now I see…. it is the devil that has sold its soul to him.

He doesn't seem human, his eyes flicker red and his lips bleed when he smiles. Some people hide demons in relationships, he hid monsters, he hid armies of bloodthirsty creatures, he hid his vulture-like instinct, to prey on the weak. At least I thought he did, until one day, when finally I noticed he never did, he had chosen the weakest prey he could find, and I was it.

It was only hours after that when the shouting voices in my head bubbled out of me, shaking my body with release. After I finished the thoughts rummaging around in my brain I reached down and opened a bottle, more cross thoughts flew out, every time he would demean me, or hurt me I couldn't let my feelings out. I stuffed them into bottles inside me, but every time I took a step they bumped around and clinked inside me, I wondered if anyone heard.

The tops threatened to blow off every time I added another, the angry, furious thoughts circled the inside of the bottles, looking for a weak spot. So, when I started I couldn't stop, layer by layer the tops flew and the words pushed out of my clenched teeth, bouncing harmlessly against his chest as he rose from the chair in the living room. Panic flew around the air, disintegrating into my skin as I realized I couldn't stop, the bottles just kept emptying. The first time he threw me against the wall, how he smiled with glee when he ripped the painting I had spent hours on, when he sold my mother's necklace and I had to say I lost it.

All of the pent up issues clinked around excitedly waiting for their turn to blow as I ran through them, but even as my words devolved into swearing and I just started throwing the empty bottles inside me at him he just smiled, as if he knew, even though I was acting powerful now I would shrink back into myself and he would take control again.

But, of course he did, I wasn't the first girl he inflicted his anger upon, he knew we would all break, he would play with us, and one day when he wasn't careful and didn't watch us we would break, we would try to take vengeance.

But, as he also, no doubt knew he picked us for a reason, we were good girls who didn't tell; we got good grades and only spoke when spoken to. We were vulnerable, and after we let our emotions out we are utterly useless to him, he would throw away the broken toys in search of new. None of his girls ever actually succeeded into scaring him with threats of violence they would never commit, and I was no different.

Standing in front of him in white flats accompanied with baby blue socks, a medium length skirt and a white blouse I wasn't different from any of the others. To him all of his toys, different as they may be all broke the same. I finally broke and I knew that I wasn't anything special, the first thing he told me were those very words, and as I retaliate, drawing near to the end if the bottles I finally know, for sure that I'm not, I had always kept hope, that maybe If I stayed with him long enough he would he that I was different but I don't have enough strength to carry on. All I want to do is wipe the sadistic smile off his face as he rocks back on his heels, amused by the sheer force of my break.

After that were many scenes of violence and my screams blossomed into the air so many times I thought maybe, finally, someone would save _me. _Maybe, my mom would finally step out for her volunteer packed life and finally realize her daughter was being abused, maybe, my daddy would stop working for a second and stop the sadistic man prodding screams out of me with a smile. Maybe, a stranger on the street would hear my cries and protect me. That's the only thing I wanted, to be protected, for the pain to stop and safe, warm arms to envelope me. But I watched him unbuckle his pants and I knew he wasn't going to be stopped, and I wasn't going to be saved.*

I scream echoed in my mind and it took me a second to realize that it wasn't mine. Closing the door on his vicious smile, I turn back upstairs realizing the painful sound was coming from my room, confused I open my double French doors to reveal the girl standing on her feet in a crumpled form. My feet jerk on the carpet trying to move to her and away from her at the same time. Her defeated form reminds me so much of my own when I crawled back to my house, after_ that_ night. I remember slumping into the soft sheets and wondering why, warm and safe as they are I would rather have human arms around me.

Remembering the shaking, wilted girl bleeding on my cream carpet I trip only twice as I cross my room. Only barely reaching her before she faints, my eyebrows furrow, wondering why she got out of the bed in the first place. But, as I hold the faded, light figure in my arms the overwhelming need to protect her overrides my system, all I want is that she never feels as useless and alone as I did that night.

Clutching the girl in my arms my mind forms the sickening resemblance from the girl to a flower dying in the harsh cold of winter. I sit down softly on the couch, laying her body lightly across the plush pillows I wonder what is poking me, rather uncomfortably in my back. Gasping as I pull out the weapon memories flash back and I trip once again on polished floor as my body jerks spastically, trying to heave itself at the door. I open the door keeping my hand in place to operate the metal before I realize he isn't there, I turn to look for his car and see none, the welcome mat isn't a centimeter out of place and not a scrap of him remains around my house. The most reasonable question pops into my head, when one is this position:

'_Did I image it all?'_ I release my vise like grip on the handgun and place it back into its rightful spot. Fog clearing out of my mind, I push all the dust of panic away and look upstairs, another reasonable question wandering around my head:

'_Why, when she made no sound was she rescued when I screamed note after note but remained alone?' _the adrenalin floods out of my system and I walk back upstairs with a tired stilt to check if she has waken up.

What I don't see is the tall man, just outside of my window, looking in with a malicious smile playing on his lips.

***-I'm sorry, but this had to happen, if you think I should find another way to put this or that I'm writing this dark issue too lightly please tell me so, I don't want to offend anyone!**

**Does the devil comment make sense? It made sense in my head but when I wrote it on word I really wondered. Please tell me if I could make it clearer!**

**-Please review! **

**Please!**


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